Last Updated 01 Sep 1999.
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created and maintained by Virtual Insanity. |
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Chapter 3
by Stan Brown
Serian walked briskly down Escher Street of Port Loren. Dim light reflected off the gray in his salt and pepper hair. He noted that more than a couple of the streetlights were not working. It would actually be easier to count the lights that were working. Not that he couldn't see his way. The soft luminescence of the glowpaint on the city walls were more than enough to guide him. The street was almost vacant. Aside from the occasional vagrant, Serian passed no one. Not exactly the best place to be, but then again it was late and no one of importance would see him. Rounding a corner, he saw the neon lights of his destination.
A group of Yazirian toughs stood around the doorway. This was one of the many yazirian gangs in Port Loren. Trade marked with dyed hair and tattoos on their gliding membranes, more commonly known as 'wings'. One of the toughs, with an orange mohawk and dragons tattooed on his 'wings', eyed him as he walked up to the door.
"Hey Fin, what's the word on the street?" asked Serian.
"Depends on who's askin'. And as far as I know, nothing that requires you Starlaw types to make a personal appearance." Replied Fin.
"Don't worry, this is a social call, you boys stay out of trouble."
Serian stepped into the hazy din of the 'Star Dust', a watering hole for the less desirables and an excellent source of information in the underworld. Walking across the room to the bar, he motioned for the Bartender. A Dralasite walked over and stood in front of him. Being only 4 feet tall, the bar had been made with a raised floor so the Dralasite was at eye level with Serian. He wore a web belt with several bottles of liquor holstered in it. Two of his hands were resting on two bottles as if he was ready to draw them out at the drop of a hat. His other two hands were busy wiping imaginary spots off one of the glasses he held.
"What can I get ya?" He asked with an accent Serian couldn't place. Serian quickly flashed his badge and the Dral pointed to the door in the back of the bar.
The door opened to short hallway that lead to the main storage area of the bar. Stacks of crates lined the walls of this room as well as large drums of various imported brews. The air in here was stale with the smell of cigarette smoke. A single table with four chairs dominated the center of this room. Across the table was aging man in a rather expensive business suit. He was staring at Serian while smoking a cigarette. Serian noted that the ashtray on his right was already half full with cigarette butts.
"Greetings William, you're looking well these days." commented Serian.
"We have a problem Jake, half an hour ago a scavenger ship came across a derelict spacecraft in Truane's Stare. After a short purge into the UPF database it was discovered to be Gri' Nashu. The missing craft from the Yazirian Exodus."
"So why call me in the middle of the night?" asked Serian.
"This is more in your jurisdiction. Get a group together, make that ship disappear and silence those who you deem talkative. I don't care to make idle threats, but you know what will happen if word of this gets out."
"Don't worry, I'm on it." Serian turned to leave. He glanced back one last time before exiting and realized that that the man across the table wasn't looking to good these days after all.
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